Lacy

“I’ve seen you in your room at night,” he said his lips against her forehead, his voice husky and rough, “standing in front of the curtains to undress, your arms lifted, your breasts straining against those thin gowns you wear. And I’ve gone running into town to have a woman, to forget, to get rid of what you’ve done to me.”

“I didn’t…know,” she whispered, her voice as unsteady as his. She could feel her breasts swelling against him, even through the two thin layers of fabric. His chest was warm and hard, and she felt the cushy springiness of hair that must cover it.

“Does he make love to you, that slick gangster?” he whispered.

“Not—not yet.”

“Are you going to let him, Katy?” he asked under his breath.

“Yes!” she said recklessly. “Yes, because you won’t!”

“Oh, but I will, tidbit,” he breathed, bending. His hands slid down her hips to her waist, then up still farther to her unbound breasts. He cupped their small softness, taking their warm weight, his thumbs teasing the nipples hard. She bit back a cry, and he slid his mouth down to hers to take it into the warm darkness past his lips.

It was the first kiss, the very first one she’d ever shared with him. Her eyes closed, her head went back to give him full access. Her mouth opened hungrily, eagerly, letting his tongue probe inside, letting it tangle with her own in the hot, still darkness of the barn.

His fingers had a faint tremor now. She felt them on the buttons of her dress. She stiffened, but she didn’t stop him. This was all she’d have of him when she left with Danny. Because she was going. After this, after what she’d told him, after what she was going to do with him in this dark barn, she’d have to leave.

“You know what this is going to lead to?” he asked, his mouth poised just above her own as he found the last button at her waist.

“Yes,” she said, shaking. “I’ll be…leaving with Danny,” she told him. She would, she’d have to, because of what was going to happen now. She’d have to ask Danny to take her away, today. He would, she knew. She couldn’t tell him why, but he’d do what she asked. Meanwhile, she wanted this man obsessively. And these few minutes with him, even without his love, would last all her life. “You don’t have to love me. Just be my lover. I’ll live on it…all my life!” Her voice broke. “Because I lied. I do love you. I always have, always will. I love you, Turk!” Her voice broke as his hands moved.

“You little fool! You’re not old enough to know what love is. This is just sex,” he whispered angrily. But it didn’t feel like just sex as he pulled the fabric slowly away from her pretty pink breasts and peeled it down to her waist, his darkening eyes sensuous on the creamy flesh with its dark pink tips gone hard with desire. “And speaking of little…” he murmured, reaching out to touch the tips with warm, slow fingers, watching her body tauten and tremble, her breath indrawn sharply.

She let him lay her down, let him remove the dress and the chemise and the garter belt and hose and shoes, until she was nude under the dark warmth of his eyes and the scent of her own body filled her nostrils.

“Cole and I used to talk about women when we were overseas,” he whispered, kneeling over her as he stripped off his shirt. “He said that your grandfather was a full-blooded Comanche, and that the old man used to say that Indians could smell a woman. Now I know what he meant.” He tossed his shirt aside and reached for his belt, smiling sensually as she watched him. “Don’t turn your face away, Katy,” he said gently as he began to lower the tight jeans and shorts he wore under them. “You let me see you. Now I’m going to let you see me.”

Her eyes widened as the jeans slid away from his body…and she saw for herself the wild difference between man and woman, between male and female.

“My God, what an expression!” He laughed softly as he moved away long enough to remove the rest of his clothing.

“I’ve never seen a man…like that,” she whispered as he stretched alongside her.

“Not even the Chicago hood?” he taunted.

“Oh…no,” she said, her voice faltering, her eyes widening as he loomed above her.

“Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you too much,” he said softly, Cole’s warnings and his own misgivings drowning in a passion too-long denied. His hand smoothed down her body, feeling the softness of her breasts, brushing over her belly and down to the exquisite softness below it. He touched her with blatant intimacy, and she flinched and caught at his hand.

“Shh,” he whispered. He opened his mouth on hers, tasting its soft trembling, and ignored the dainty little hand tugging halfheartedly at his fingers as he found a moist opening and began to play around it.

Her body arched and her voice broke on a faint little cry.

His lips lifted until they were just brushing hers. “I don’t have anything to use,” he whispered. “And I’m just not confident enough to try rolling away from you in time. So we’re going to make love this way. I’m going to be your first man, but not technically. Do you understand? I’m going to fulfill you without the risk of pregnancy, and then I’m going to show you how to do it to me.”

“But…” she protested as his fingers moved again. She cried out, gasping, as he found more sensitive tissue and began to stroke it.

“Look at me,” he whispered as he increased the pressure and the rhythm, holding her shocked eyes. “Let me watch you.”

Her face went bloodred as he stroked and tormented. She began to writhe helplessly, and his dark eyes were all over her, watching her breasts swell and tauten even more, watching the restless movements of her long, elegant legs, hearing sweet, whimpering sounds that aroused him unbearably.

He was hurting. Worse. Dying. He grasped one of her hands and pushed it against his swollen flesh, wrapping it around him, holding it there when she would have jerked it away.

“God, I hurt,” he whispered, his voice tormented even as his hand grew more bold where it touched her. “Like this…Help me!”

He taught her the movement, whispered explicit, embarrassing instructions that she was too aroused to protest. She touched him, stroked him, closed around him, and felt him throb. Her eyes looked up into his, and he saw her pupils beginning to dilate.

“Turk!” she cried out, her voice frantic, rasping.

His free hand was behind her neck, holding her still, his other hand feverish, his eyes shockingly thorough as he held her wild gaze. “Now,” he whispered roughly. “Feel it, Katy. Feel it. Feel it, and let me watch!”

Spasms of hot lightning shot through her virginal body. She arched up against that tormenting hand and cried out, forcing him to fulfill her. Her body went into convulsions, and he watched, feeling them as his hand probed gently past the maidenhead. He shook all over, and in that moment of feverish arousal, forgot caution.

“To hell with this!” he groaned. He forced her back into the hay with the hot pressure of his open mouth. His body rolled onto hers and he thrust her legs apart with his hand. He went into her with rough, piercing motion, burying himself, and she was so involved in her own culmination that she didn’t even feel pain. She welcomed him, arching up to his hard, hot body, her hands finding his hips, her nails digging in.

He rocked furiously above her, his breath dragging out in gasps, his thighs shuddering as he arched down again and again, his eyes on her, his jaw clenched with the most exquisite pleasure he’d ever had.

“Take me inside,” he whispered, his voice strained, deep with mingled arousal and passion. “Take me, Katy!”

It happened to her again. The whispered words, the rough motion of his body, the feverish rhythm with which he drove into her made it happen again.

She closed her eyes and arched her head back with a peculiar little cry, her nipples hard and pointing. One of his hands swallowed one of them roughly. His mouth forced hers open and penetrated it in the same motion, with the same rhythm, as his body. She heard the noise of the sliding hay under them, smelled the hot, pungent smell of their union, heard his heart slamming in his chest, felt the wiry roughness of his body hair against her soft skin. And then he cried out, with such achingly wild pleasure that her eyes opened and she looked up, seeing him arched above her, his neck corded with muscle, his face violently red, his eyes closed, his teeth clenched. He convulsed again and again with rippling muscle, and she looked down to where they were locked together and watched as he suddenly drew back and covered her body with his. She felt a wetness on her belly after his body shuddered and then collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. “Oh, God,” he breathed unsteadily. “I hope it was in time! I couldn’t stop…!”

Her hands touched him with wonder. He’d said that he wouldn’t and then he had, suddenly, as if he hadn’t been able to hold back. Her eyes closed as she drifted in the soft aftermath, a little sad because she knew that this would be the last time, the only time. Because she loved him, and would lose him. He had no heart to give her, only a body that knew no emotion past fulfillment; any woman would have done.

“Are you all right, Katy?” he asked, lifting his sweaty head to look at her with soft concern.

“Yes, I’m all right,” she replied, with the shreds of her pride. She even managed a smile, but she couldn’t quite look at him.

“And this is why I wouldn’t touch you before,” he said gently, watching her move slowly away and start putting her clothes on again. “Because afterward comes shame…and then guilt.”

He was being tender, and she hated it. Hated what was only pity mingled with conscience. She drew her underpants back on and her garter belt over them. There was no self-consciousness left, at least. Danny would like that. He didn’t know she was a virgin. He’d even said that he wouldn’t want one. So all her problems were solved at once. She’d given her virginity to the only man she’d ever love—to pave the way for the only man who loved her.

“Say something,” he said quietly, watching her, vaguely ashamed of his own loss of control. He hadn’t meant to let it happen. His big body still trembled softly with the force of his fulfillment. Was it because she’d been a virgin that it had been so intense? he wondered dazedly. He’d never felt it like that.

“I’m all right!” she said roughly. Would the shame never stop? She knew he didn’t love her, but she’d thought the experience with him would be profound, reverent. And it had only been sex. Very pleasurable, very nice. But without his love, it was only physical. She wondered if she’d always remember it with the same degree of bitterness.

She pulled the chemise over her head and then pulled on her dress. Behind her, she heard him putting his own clothes back on and tried not to remember the beauty of his body without them. Hard muscles covered with dark blond hair, strength and beauty in every sinew. She’d never forget this. He would, of course. There would be other women. Her eyes closed; she didn’t want to know about them. She was only one in a line, and that’s all she would ever be. Now she wouldn’t even have the dignity of being the one that got away. And when it was too late, she finally understood why he’d kept his distance. He’d wanted her to keep her illusions. Now she had none left.

With her hand on the last button, she stepped into her wide-heeled shoes and turned to face him with her chin proudly lifted.

“Thanks for the lesson,” she said quietly.

He actually winced. “No,” he said under his breath, searching her dark, wounded green eyes. “No, don’t make it into something cheap. It wasn’t.”

Her lower lip trembled, threatening to leave her defenseless. She forced herself to smile. “Okay.”

He moved forward, catching her arms as she tried to get away, to run.